


I look after you

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (near) future fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Weaver, but I’m gonna have to pull Scott McCall out for the rest of the day - and possibly tomorrow.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I look after you

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be all light and fluffy, and then the boys were like, "WHAM! Feelings." Why? Why do you two have to do things like that? The title comes from The Fray's _Look After You_.

He hears the arrhythmic cadence of his best friend’s heart before he lifts his eyes up from his notebook. Sure enough, he sees Stiles peering into the room. He raises his eyebrows significantly when he meets Scott’s gaze, and then moves out of his line of sight. A moment later, the door swings open, causing Mrs. Weaver to break off from her lecture on the Hundred Years War.  
  
The kind, yet fussy woman turns to look at Stiles expectantly. “Yes?”  
  
“Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Weaver, but I’m gonna have to pull Scott McCall out for the rest of the day - and possibly tomorrow.”  
  
“Are you, now?”  
  
“Yeah, I hate to do it, but there’s been a death in the family,” Stiles announces, his entire demeanor aggrieved.  
  
Pursing her lips, Mrs. Weaver says, “That’s very unfortunate, especially considering that there was a death in your family last week, as well.”  
  
The picture of solemnity, Stiles sighs, “I know, right? It’s been a difficult time.” Scott very carefully sets about gathering his stuff. If he keeps watching Stiles, he will lose it, no matter what the actual reason for their departure might be.  
  
“Mmhm. And how is it, exactly, that the two of you are related?”  
  
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Stiles asks, his eyes wide and innocent. “We’re second cousins.” He glances over at Scott, who stands up and starts to head his way. “You get everything, buddy?”  
  
Nodding, Scott adjusts his hold on the strap of his book bag and tells him, “I’m good.”  
  
“All right, then,” Stiles begins, reaching up to wrap a hand around Scott’s bicep. “Dear old uncle Peter is waiting for us in the parking lot.”  
  
At the last minute, Scott looks over his shoulder and bids Mrs. Weaver goodbye. She shakes her head at him wryly, and gives her condolences, more than likely not for the last time. Her classroom door closes behind the pair of them, and they walk a ways down the hall before Scott enquires, “So, what’s really going on?”  
  
“Scott, my friend, believe me when I say that this is something you have to see in order to understand.”  
  
Great. This doesn’t sound like a disaster waiting to happen at all. “Can you at least tell me whether or not it’s dangerous?”  
  
Loftily, Stiles declares, “All signs point to yes.”  
  
“Am I going to wish I’d stayed and listened to Mrs. Weaver’s lecture?”  
  
Glancing at him in what might be genuine surprise, Stiles remarks, “I thought you said her lectures put you to sleep. That _is_ why you’ve been borrowing my notes for history this year, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Scott assures him, “but at least with U.S. History, I know what to expect. Right now, I have no idea what I’m about to walk into.”  
  
“Come on, dude,” Stiles scolds lightly. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”  
  
“Back in the woods, where I left it about a year ago,” Scott replies, his voice drier than the school’s sandwich bread.  
  
Stiles blinks and utters a slightly uncomfortable, “Ah.”  
  
“Relax, Stiles,” Scott soothes. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I never blamed you for what happened that night.”  
  
“I don’t see how,” he mumbles, staring down at his feet as they tred the well-known hallways of their high school. “If I hadn’t dragged you out to the preserve, Peter never would have turned you, and -”  
  
“And,” Scott interjects, “he would have wound up turning somebody else instead. Besides, the bite doesn’t always take. He could have killed someone that night, but he didn’t, because he bit me. Think about how many deaths we may have prevented by going out there.”  
  
Rather than looking reassured, Stiles swallows roughly and then counters, “Did you forget about all the deaths that happened after?”  
  
“Of course not.” He can’t. Not ever. Each and every life that has been lost since he became a werewolf weighs heavily on Scott, no matter who was responsible. “I just think it could have been a lot worse.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” his friend sighs, clearly unconvinced.  
  
In an effort to take his mind off of his debatable culpability - thanks, SAT Word of the Day - Scott asks Stiles, “So is Peter really waiting for us?”  
  
“Sadly, yes.”  
  
“Hey, look at it this way: at least he’s not actually our uncle.”  
  
Gasping, Stiles brings the hand not holding onto Scott up to clutch at his own heart. “He’s not? Does that mean you and I aren’t actually second cousins? My whole life has been a lie.”  
  
Scott grins at his friend’s antics, feeling a rush of fondness overtake him. “I’m sure you’ll manage to survive.”  
  
Sending an answering smile his way, Stiles moves to open the door to the outside, bathing them both in the warmth of the midmorning sun. “Well, if you’re sure, then it must be true.”  
  
With a gentle bump of his hip against Stiles’s, Scott snorts, “Jerk.”  
  
“Nerd.”  
  
“Oh hey, Kettle. My name’s Pot.”  
  
“You are not nearly as funny as you think you are.” Scott might be more inclined to believe him if Stiles wasn’t snickering as he said it.  
  
Things have been dark recently. He gets that. There have been a lot of deaths and a lot of tension with the alpha pack and the Darach. Even so, he thinks that as long as they have each other, they’ll be okay. He says as much to Stiles and receives a gentle squeeze on his arm in response.  
  
“Sure thing, dude.”


End file.
